There is something about this building that usually feels like Switzerland. It is bathed in equal parts peace and torment. It is equal parts sanctimonious and righteous. It is heaven and hell and the purgatory in between.
Light shines through the stained-glass windows and veils the dark wood panelling, marble pillars and alabaster statues in a thin gauzy film that makes it all look ethereal. It’s pretty in an unexpected way.
“So, have you asked Christopher about Mr. A-hole?” she whispers.
The mention of him is enough to make my heart beat in my chest, like all of a sudden it’s found a new lease of life. Racing nonsensically for a complete stranger that somehow feels familiar, like déjà vu.
“Stop calling him that, and don’t do it in a church for God’s sake.”
“You just took the Lord’s name in vain, so we’re even. Now he’s got potluck on who to strike. But anyway, stop changing the subject.”
“I’m not.”
“You are, and you know it. I mean, who just walks off like that?” she argues, huffing as she settles for one of the pews close to the front.
“I don’t know, I just…you saw him. There’s something about him that gets me right here,” I wrap my arm around my belly, “and here.” Wrapping my other arm around my chest I swallow down the inexplicable yearning pulsing inside. The whole time I’m trying to come to grips with how the mere thought of him is enough to have my blood pounding in my veins and butterflies fluttering in my chest. I always thought that butterflies belonged in your tummy, but right now my chest feels like a cage bursting with them.
“I don’t get it, Fleur, no one has ever made me feel like this before. He looks at me and it’s like he could bring me to life with a quirk of his lips. It feels like he knows me, and I know it’s impossible because I swear if I’d seen him before…I…”
“You?” Looking at me like I’m certifiably insane, she fixes me with her wide stare.
“How can I have no idea who he is and feel this way? How is it possible for Christopher to know him and for me not to have a freaking clue? The way they were talking at Freddie’s party and the way they acted with one another…”
“Have you asked Christopher who he is?” Getting her sketchbook and charcoals out, she spreads her elbows to make sure she’s got enough room to sketch.
“Is it silly that I’m nervous about asking him?”
“Depends on why you’re nervous.” She puts her bright red cashmere beret into her custom handbag and stows it beneath her seat.
“Because nobody has ever made me feel the way he does.”
“And that is?” she asks without looking at me, her eyes flit between the angel overhanging one of the pillars and her paper.
“Seen. Is that stupid?”
“Honestly?”
“Duh…”
“Firstly, it’s not stupid. Everyone wants to be seen by someone, I totally understand that. But, you are seen, Cass. I see you…everybody sees you, I mean you’re pretty hard to miss and also, he’s just a nameless stranger which brings me to…” She looks over at me, her tongue pinched between her teeth and with concentration drawing her face. “If he sees you, then why hasn’t he given you something about him to hold on to? He’s had ample opportunity to introduce himself to you, but he’s just been a di—he’s been an A-hole about it.”
“I know it sounds silly, but something inside me just knows he isn’t.”
“That something inside you is blatantly lying.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Why haven’t you asked Christopher or even Freddie about him?” Looking at me sternly, she doesn’t give me time to answer her back. “Maybe you’re scared that they’ll tell you the opposite of what you want to hear.” Her shrug is followed with a twist of her features before she returns to her drawing and leaves me with too much food for thought and bitterness swilling in my chest.
I sit in the shadow beside her taking in the details of the carvings. Even in the hidden shadow there is so much light. Too much light for a wintery day.
My eyes get caught in the glare of the light streaming in and the slight green tinge makes me think of his eyes. My ears recall the sound of his voice and with the holy air around me, it feels like too much. The organist is rehearsing the hymnal mass and the organ notes clash with his rumble in my eardrums like discordant cymbals.
I’m fidgeting and I can tell that Fleur is about ready to bite my head off. Before I know it, I’m rubbing life back into my painfully numb arm. As I’m nursing it from my friend’s warning elbow, I can’t help the feeling that I’m being watched again. My eyes search the shadows of the building, it’s something my father has always taught me to do.
Your gut never lies, Princess. If something feels off, never ignore it.
This place doesn’t feel like Switzerland today. It doesn’t feel easy and welcoming. Today it feels like every saint and martyr has turned their hard gaze on me. Like they are judging me for a sin I have no idea I’ve committed or am yet to commit.